


Hannibear

by Anayim



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Nicknames, and prostitution, mentions of killing, minor blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-10
Updated: 2013-09-10
Packaged: 2017-12-26 04:32:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/961607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anayim/pseuds/Anayim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fill for a prompt. Kind of. It was actually in response to a headcannon that goes as follows:<br/>"Headcanon where Jack is super mean to Will at a crime scene and causes Will to flip out and then Hannibal comes and Will accidentally calls him Hannibear in front of everyone"<br/>Hope it isn't too short! I just liked it!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hannibear

**Author's Note:**

> Wherein Will's a cutie, Jack's a booty, and Hannibal brings the foodie.

It was getting too much for Will. The cases, hiding his not-so-professional relationship with Hannibal, attempting to actually participate in that relationship in a healthy manner. He was under too much stress, and Jack was not making it any better.  
“We need you here, Will, and if you think this is too much for you, then I understand if you want to leave. Just know that the blood of these women is on your hands,” Jack gave him a pointed look, almost bored, that plainly said if you can handle the Chesapeake Ripper, you can handle this average serial killer.   
But he couldn’t. Will was having a hard time even keeping his eyes open, and Jack forcing him into a case that was making it difficult to separate himself from the killer. This killer, presumably male, had the same build as Will, if the severity of each bruise and bump on these women said anything. The DNA samples agreed, with curly black hairs littering the bodies’ clothes. How could he try to get inside of a killer who looked just like him and not start to feel the man’s disgust for the women?  
And the disgust was evident. This killer hated these women, who had no obvious connection with each other. He wouldn’t have torn their faces clean off of their skulls if he didn’t. But that didn’t explain why the rape tests came back positive- why would this man have sexual desires for women he so hated?   
His head hurt.   
“Will, last week you solved a murder twice this degree, can’t you hurry this up a bit? I’d like to get home to see Bella before she goes to bed,” Jack was getting annoyed. And Will was annoyed that Jack was annoyed. Where was Hannibal when he needed a rational conversation made for him?  
Speak of the devil, and so he shall appear. Or think, in Will’s case.  
“So sorry I am late, Jack, I figured this case would be a while, so I packed a quick dinner for the three of us,” Hannibal said smoothly, a large brown paper bag in his arms, creased neatly at the top. His suit was in perfect order, even though his words spoke of being rushed.   
“That won’t be necessary, Dr. Lecter, I was just telling Will that we’ll have the case done by dinnertime,” Jack said gruffly, his point made loud and clear to the aggravated Will, who was mostly focusing on not letting the smell of blood give him the headache he’d been holding back since before the case started.   
“I’ll leave you to it then, Will,” Jack said after a beat of silence, “Dr. Lecter, shall we wait in the living room? This place reeks and I’m trying not to spoil my appetite.”  
That was rude. Will was very unhappy with that. He hadn’t seen Hannibal in a week, and now that he glided back into Will’s presence, Jack was whisking him away? Unfair. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Hannibal and Jack were in the living room, but only separated by a thin wall leading into the living room.   
These women ruined his life, never mind that he had sought them out himself.  
Will could hear the sound of Jack’s heavy boot tapping an impatient rhythm into the floorboards. He could hear the vibrations.   
How he hated himself, how he hated these women.   
Tap, tap, tap.  
It was their fault anyway.  
“Prostitutes! They were prostitutes, and this man killed them because he was guilty for using them in the place of his wife. He hated them, but he kept going back. He killed so she wouldn’t find out,” Will exclaimed, wrenching his eyes open and running to the door, heart beating frantically in his chest and hatred throbbing in his veins. The team of investigators watched the weary man as he scrambled through the door to Jack and Hannibal.  
“See, Will, I knew you’d get it. You always do,” Jack turned towards a police officer with his foot still tapping relentlessly on the floor.   
Hannibal leaned in towards Will, whispering something he couldn’t hear. Will’s ears were rushing, and his sight was clouding with red and black. His mind was still stuck in full hatred mode, liquid fire running through his heart.   
Before he knew what was happening, he had lunged at Jack, but for some reason was unable to reach him. Will was screeching something at him, but he couldn’t hear himself. All he felt was Hannibal’s grounding arms wrapped securely around him a cheek pressed against the side of his head, urgently whispering something into his ears.   
“William, you are William, not this killer. Will Graham, who has not killed any women, prostitutes or otherwise,” those words were pulling him back down to earth, and Will was feeling tired and was drooping in Hannibal’s arms.   
“Hannibal?” He mumbled sloppily, eyes slipping closed, “Hannibal. Hannibear,”   
His eyes shot open. Had he really just called his therapist, his super secret boyfriend, Hannibear? The nickname that had only been developed because of Hannibal’s loathing of affectionate nicknames, and Will’s inability to not tease him? Damn. Dammit. Jack was going to kill him for doing the do with his therapist. Alana was going to give him the smuggest of smirks, because she had guessed it not two weeks into the relationship.  
Freddie Lounds was going to have a field day.   
He refused to open his eyes to see everyone’s reactions.   
He heard the muffled sounds of surprised and amused laughter, and the low chuckle of his therapist. His therapist. What the hell was he doing seeing his therapist in such an inappropriate manner? This was Jack’s fault. He introduced them, after all. If it hadn’t been for Jack, he wouldn’t have been crumpled on the floor with blood stains on his knees and his face burning bright red from embarrassment.   
“Fuck you, Jack,” Will grumbled, head pounding, as he slumped on the floor, awkwardly enclosed by his bemused lover’s arms.


End file.
